


Two Minutes for Roughing

by Superstition_hockey



Series: Pee-Wee League [6]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Discussions about fighting in and out of sports, Gen, Misogyny, Papa Luc Chantal, Sexism, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 10:59:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17897177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superstition_hockey/pseuds/Superstition_hockey
Summary: Luc’s quiet on the drive back to the house, mostly because he knows he’s going to have some kind of parenting talk and he’s trying to coach himself through it in his head so he won’t just say, “Good tilt, make sure to not tuck your thumb next time.”





	Two Minutes for Roughing

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story about Luc making it through an entire "called into the principals office to talk about your child's behavior" conference and not even once giving into the temptation to say "well, talk shit get hit." 
> 
>  
> 
> Jacks would be so proud of him.

When Luc started having daughters, everyone made it out like it was going to be so much harder than sons. Like all of a sudden he was going to have to “worry” about “prom night,” etc. 

It was weird and unsettling, but also, literally none of any of the dumbass unsolicited advice other (creepy) parents gave him prepared him in anyway for what was actually the hardest part of parenting:

Pretending to be disapproving when really you just wanted to pat your daughter on the back, tell her good game, and go buy her an ice cream. 

Luc is 110% sure that this is a parent-teacher-principal-other-parent conference that Jacks should be at instead of Luc, but Jacks can’t, because he’s on a _book tour_ , signing copies and reading chapters in Milwaukee, currently, and thus unable to deal with this shit like the responsible mature adult Luc really needs him to be so Luc doesn’t have to. 

“I understand, Ms. Tremblay,” Luc says, and he’s only surviving this because he is a goddamn professional who’s been doing media since he was 12 and his “The team is taking this recent 0-4 streak seriously, we’re playing for each other and confident in our ability to rally” face is automatic after a long career. “Bells knows better than to resort to violence in a disagreement. That’s not how things operate in our home, and I can assure you we’ll be having a long talk with her about the consequences of her actions.” He gives his best, earnest, reassuring Canadian Hockey smile. 

Ms. Tremblay looks mollified. The snot-faced little twerp holding an ice pack to the truly impressive shiner he’s going to have over his right eye glares at Bells. The snot-faced little twerp’s mother sniffs disdainfully. 

Luc is 110% sure the little shit got what was coming to him. He is also 110% sure he’s not allowed to say that. 

Instead he says, “Bells, apologize to... Brian.” He remembers the kid’s name at the end. 

Bells smiles sweetly, folds her hands in her lap, looks Brian in the eyes, and says, “I’m sorry I punched you in the face, Brian.” 

“There,” Ms. Tremblay says, relief that the situation is resolving itself coloring her voice. 

Bells turns and looks at Ms. Tremblay, and says, “Is Brian going to apologize to me now?” 

Brian’s mother says, “Why should he?”

Bells’ eyes go all big and innocent and her voice goes all small and confused and earnest. “Well, Brian and I both agreed to fight and we both took swings at each other. Brian only has a black eye because my reflexes are faster, but we both did the same thing, so we should both apologize, right?” 

“Quite right,” Ms. Tremblay agrees. Brian’s mother grits her teeth. Brian sticks out his pugnacious little chin. 

“Come on, champ,” Luc says, “you both threw off your gloves. Now you both go to the box and do your time and then you shake on it at the end of the game. That’s fair.”

Brian appears to find this logical, and apologizes. 

Brian’s mother says, “Talk like that at home is why your daughter is running around like a harridan, battering other students.”

Before Luc can open his mouth to argue, Bells interrupts. 

“Actually, everything I learned about violence I learned from mainstream _media_ , whereas the things Brian said about my mother sound an awful lot like something he heard at home, _Karen_.” 

Ms. Tremblay’s eyes go sharp. “What did Brian say about your mother?” 

Bells’ eyes go big and guileless again. “That my mama is a career-obsessed slut with no sense of decency and no permanent address who wanders the globe like a vagabond and can’t stay put and mother her own children.”

“ _Brian_ ,” Brian’s mom hisses, going pink in the face. 

“Oh,” Ms. Tremblay says, mouth pursing. “Yes, Brian will _definitely_ be apologizing for that, won’t he, Mrs. Gauthier?” 

 

Calisse. Luc should probably find his 11-year-old daughter’s ability to maneuver people into a corner in a conversation to be a little worrying, but she did it with such style it’s hard not to be proud of her. Fuck the ice cream, Luc is going to be lucky if he gets out of this without buying her a pony. 

Maybe she’ll be PM one day. 

 

 

Bells gets suspended. She gets two days and Brian gets two days for fighting and another two for parroting his parent’s hateful bullshit. 

Good. 

Luc’s quiet on the drive back to the house, mostly because he knows he’s going to have some kind of parenting talk and he’s trying to coach himself through it in his head so he won’t just say, “Good tilt, make sure to not tuck your thumb next time.” 

Finally he says, “Bells, baby-bro, you know that stuff they said about your mama isn’t true, right?”

“Duh,” Bells says. 

“Stop chewing on your hair.” 

Bells spits the end of her braid out of her mouth and makes a face at him. 

“Papa,” she says when Luc is still looking at her worriedly in the rear view mirror. “I know. Mama’s the best. She’s _so cool_ and she reads us stories every night on Skype and always sends us stuff from wherever she is and she’s coming next week just to see me play at my recital. I know she loves me bunches and bunches and bunches. I know Brian is just saying gross stuff his mom says because she’s bitter and sad and wishes she was having half as much fun living her best life like Mama. I talked about it with Mama last week.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt when people say things, or that it you might not be sad your mom’s not always here.” 

“I like the summers when everyone is together better than when we’re not,” Bells shrugs, “but Billie McEntee’s papa is always gone because he’s a marine and no one ever calls him a slut. They say he’s _so brave_.”

“Fair point.” 

“Mama is super brave. She punched a shark once.”

“She’s the bravest, honey.” 

“It’s the patriarchy.”

“Yeah, baby-bro, pretty much.” 

“Can we get ice cream?” 

Luc sighs. “Did you eat lunch?” 

“Yup.”

“Okay, I’ll split a fro-yo sundae with you, how about that?” 

 

 

They get their sundae from frozen yogurt place to go, and when they get back home Luc takes an ice pack out of the fridge, washes Bell’s knuckles, smears where they’re split and red with bacitracin, wraps them, and then gives her the ice pack before they take the lid off the sundae. 

Bells takes three big bites before she asks, “Are you mad at me, am I grounded?” 

Luc brushes her bangs out of her eyes and says, “I don’t know, baby-bro.” 

“You don’t _know_?”

“The older you get the more you figure out how much shit you don’t know.” 

“That’s dumb.”

“For sure.” Luc sighs. “Why did you fight him anyway? You must have been upset, that he said something about your mom?”

“I wasn’t upset.”

“Bells.” 

“No really. I mean, I was last week, but I talked to Mama on the phone after school while I waited for band practice to start, and it was ok. Then he said something again yesterday and I decided I would fight him.” 

“Baby-Bells.” Luc tugs at her braid, so she’ll drop the end of it from her mouth. They’ve been trying to break her of the habit. 

She gets the stubborn set of her jaw directly from him. It’s _eerie_ how similar it looks. “When someone disrespects your boys, _or your mama_ , you have to stand up for them. So I told Brian to say it to my face and he did and then I said we were going to have to throw off our gloves outside during lunch. It’s not my fault Brian telegraphs too much on his right.” She pokes at the sprinkles glumly, switches to English: “I wish they hadn’t broken it up early, I was gonna punch him in the mouth, make him spit his chiclets.” 

That’s straight out of Olsen’s mouth. Luc sighs. His freaking kids are probably going to have a therapist when they’re adults that does some kind of case study about the effects of growing up in a house with a steady flow of NHL rookies. Luc’s going to have to talk to the boys about what they say around the kids. 

“Yeah,” Luc says, “but… part of fighting is learning when it’s appropriate to fight and when to not let yourself get riled up from chirps. This wasn’t the right time to fight.” 

“When’s the right time?” 

Luc leans back in the chair and tries to sort through his conflicted feelings on the subject. Jacks should so be having this conversation instead. “Off ice and using your fists? Basically never, kiddo. Unless you’re defending yourself from being hurt, or you’re in some freaking two horse town in Saskatchewan where hicks throw down for fun and you know you’re not going to go jail, physical violence is almost never the way to resolve a difference of opinion in regular life. You gotta find another way.” 

“But I _really_ wanted to punch him.”

Luc snorts. “Yeah, I get that. But you just can’t. Find some other non-illegal way to teach him some freaking manners, alright? You got out of that because you’re 11 and you’re in pigtails. Plus,” he taps her nose, “you know better than most kids your age about the dangers of CTE in grownups who get hit in the head too much. You can’t go around punching kids with soft, malleable little brains, okay? Let him save up his concussions for when he’s 19 and an idiot.” 

“He’s an idiot now.” 

Luc fights not to smile. “Pretend I’m your dad and I’m gently reprimanding you for that.” 

She smiles. “So am I not grounded?” 

“Well, you definitely don’t get to just sit at home and goof off the rest of the week while you’re suspended. You can help Uncle Yasha on the farm, or you can help Uncle Sergey and Alex at the restaurant or your can come to work with me and pick up pucks and sweep ice in between drills.” 

Bells raises a single eyebrow. Freaking Vinny taught her how to do that. “You want me to learn to not fight by hanging out with rookie call-ups or back-of-the-house kitchen staff for two days?” 

“Well, when you put it like that sounds like you’re going to be turning over compost and cleaning out chicken coops for Yasha.” 

Bells grumbles but there’s a tiny little smile on her lips that makes Luc thinks she’s not as upset as she could be about that because of the new litter of kittens and the tiny baby goat kid over at Yasha and Buddy’s. 

Luc takes her hand in his. “Pretty good hit,” he says finally. “You have fun? Before it got broken up?”

Bells _grins_ at him. “ _So_ much fun.” 

“You want boxing lessons or krav maga or something after school?” 

“Can it fit around band and junior model UN?”

“I think we can schedule it in somewhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me at superstitionhockey on tumblr


End file.
